


Nemesis Adrestia

by erintoknow



Series: Fallen Hero Sidestep AU Fanfics [5]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Gen, Murder, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Revenge, Spiders, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, extra canonical, the Farm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 18:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20012548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: Getting involved with Zia is dangerous. On multiple levels. There’s a reason you’ve taken to calling her ‘Triple-X,’ although never to her face. She’s respected your boundaries so far – has never laid a hand on you. But whenever you’re in her presence it feels like you’ve been put under a microscope. The octopus trying to pry open a clam.





	Nemesis Adrestia

**Author's Note:**

> Zia loaned generously by [Swan](https://ratkingkisses.tumblr.com)

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise to you by now, but it’s obvious you’ve gotten in over your head again. “Was _this_ a part of your genius fucking plan?” You hiss.

“Sweetheart, darling, of course it was.” The figure crouched down next to is dressed in an almost form-fitting black powered-suit with pink accents up the sides, the black hood of their cloak up over the mirrored helmet. “Keep them busy for a moment, won’t you?”

You grit your teeth. “When are you going to play rabbit?”

“When I’m not the stronger telepath, Adrestia.” She says it so matter-of-factly in that weirdly electronic and rasping voice of hers it makes your eye twitch.

Despite your frustation, it’s hard to argue with that. Nemesis seems to have a talent for getting her hooks into a crowd. Handling that kind of mental feedback is a little much for you.

…Alright then. Keep a team of armed officers busy while Nemesis safely sits behind a wall playing mind games? Sure. Okay. Why not?

Take a breath, steady yourself, then dash out from behind the wall, pulling at their attention as you go. Nothing fancy, just _eyes on me,_ encourage them to forget the second figure, already at work. You can feel her in the back of your head, weaving threads of thought into straitjackets. Watch how you think, you’ll have to be careful not to get snagged yourself.

A trail of bullets follow you, they can’t seem to remember to lead their target, such as shame, really. You slide behind the reception desk, breathing hard. Try to steady your heart, get it back down and out of your throat. These aren’t cops or street thugs. Trained professionals, soldiers. You’d never have been so bold as to try this on your own, or so stupid.

_Zia lounges across the booth, taking up both seats, legs crossed. She flashes a practiced smile, offers a honeyed greeting and pushes a plate of cupcakes across the table to you as you sit down across from her. You pick one up, take a bite, it’s still warm. Is she trying to put you at ease and failing or is she purposefully trying to unsettle you with this exaggeration of hospitality? You can’t be sure, can’t know_

_Getting involved with Zia is dangerous. On multiple levels. There’s a reason you’ve taken to calling her ‘Triple-X,’ although never to her face. She’s respected your boundaries so far – has never laid a hand on you. But whenever you’re in her presence it feels like you’ve been put under a microscope. The octopus trying to pry open a clam._

_Looking for that way in._

_Well, that’s a game that two can play._

_You unshoulder your purse onto the table, pull out the envelope and slide it across the table in exchange. Floor plans, hand transcribed from months of careful reconnaissance. Valuable information to a career thief._

_Zia palms it, slides the envelope down the front of her shirt. Her smile shows her canines. She makes no secret of being a dangerous woman. She’ll get in touch with you soon, she says. You make a show of playing up your nerves. The woman who has nothing to fear and the woman from which there is nothing to fear. You both wear your masks well._

“You fuckers couldn’t hit an iceberg!” You yell out, palming through the smoke grenades and flash bangs attached to your belt. Keep their attention, don’t think about how the bullets punch through the pressed woodpulp of the desk, barely missing you. How much time do you need to buy? 

You thumb a flash bang, trying to get a sense of where to throw it when you feel strings pull taunt. You reflexively throw up your mental wall as Nemesis finally springs into action. There’s the tension of sudden silence. No guns fire, no movement, then at once the sound of five bodies hitting the floor in unison.

You poke your head up, none of the men are still standing. “Jesus,” you whisper under your breath so the suit doesn’t pick up your voice and amplify it, “what did you do.” Five bodies lay sprawled on the ground where they fell. Still alive, you can see it in the rise and fall of the chests. But their mental presence is weirdly blank, twisted into itself. Not comatose exactly, but deeper than normal sleep.

Nemesis strides out into the middle of the lobby, “Don’t just stand there gawking, dear. We’ve got more where these fools came from.” You have a limited window before someone or someones beyond your pay grade crash the party. Now that your cover is blown, if you’re going to hit your target and get out, every second needs to count.

Still… you glance down at bodies. “Are they going to wake up?”

“Who cares?” She responds, voice drained of its theatric warmth. She doesn’t stop walking.

You frown behind your helmet but don’t argue. Kneel down and fish out the keycards from one of the men before catching up with Nemesis. You might be the pathfinder on this operation, but Nemesis isn’t about to let anyone else take lead. That suits you just fine. Maybe she can take a turn getting shot at next.

_“I need your help.” You admit. Don’t look at her face, focus on the window, how the light still manages to make it through the closed blinds._

_She leans forward, hands cupped under her chin, in a move clearly designed to emphasize her cleavage. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. I can think of plenty of ways to help make you sing.”_

_You glance at her, eyes wide, “What? Uh- Um-, no, no not like that.” You break eye contact again, look elsewhere, anywhere else. Try to swerve around the images she’s broadcasting at you. “This is strictly business.”_

_You feel her sharp disappointment like a slap to the face. You flinch. She leans back. “Business it is.” Her voice drained of any previous warmth._

_“Well, more like revenge, really.” You admit. Flash the photograph in your hand. That gets her attention again._

The next stop is one of the security offices. It’s not a far walk. Two officers stand between you and getting inside, but it’s hardly a contest. Pull their aim off, pull their attention on you instead of calling for help. Nemesis crumples the one on the right with a punch to stomach followed by a knee to the groin. You take out the one on left by yanking the gun out of their hands and then bashing their nose in with the butt of the rifle. 

They didn’t even lock the door. During a lockdown. You laugh, a sharp cackle, as you throw open the door and take stock of what you have to work with.

“Something amusing, my dear handmaiden?” Nemesis stands outside, her attention focused down the hallway. Focused like this, her mind feels like a cord of rope, severed and fraying into a million threads at one end.

“D-doesn’t matter.” You grind your teeth at the nickname.

The connection between your names is entirely accidental, you’ve gone through a couple before settling on Adrestia. Nemesis, however, has latched onto it with a frightening degree of enthusiasm. At this point you don’t think you could change your name again if you tried.

You fish out the flash drive from its secure canister as you ran a hand over the bank of computer terminals on the far wall of the tiny room. There, under the desk, a row of servers. You pop open the flash drive and slot it home. Actual coding is far beyond your skillset, but with the connections Nemesis has, getting your hands on something capable of cracking a military system hadn’t been difficult. Turns out the primary defense is physical access, and… well, the two of you have that handled.

A stressful minute of waiting later and now you have access to the internal systems via your suit. All it takes is a few simple commands to lock out anyone else on the system. You pull out the flash drive and pocket it again. No sense leaving evidence behind. Nod to Nemesis. “We’re good, let’s keep moving.”

You can feel the frayed edges of Nemesis attention as she runs beside you. Between her ability to pick up and redirect the attentions of multiple people at once and your pathfinding it’s a surprisingly smooth dash through the building to your target’s office. And with the security systems firmly still under your control no one else is able to follow your progress through the complex. No cameras, and barriers are mere formality as doors open and lock again behind the two of you.

You can feel your heart pound. This has been a long time coming.

Nemesis Adrestia; Retribution Inescapable.

The two of you round one last corner and Nemesis gestures with her head towards a set of doors across the hall. “This is the place, sweetheart?”

Tentatively you reach out to get a read of how many people are on the other side, sheltering in place. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, you reel back, curl your song tight around yourself. “He’s here alright.” You hiss through your teeth.

Nemesis makes an unearthly sound, laughter distorted beyond recognition. “Let’s catch up with an old friend, I’m sure they’ll be _delighted_ to see us..”

_“Peter Byrne.” You trace patterns in your leg, fighting down nausea, memory. “Recognize him?”_

_Zia thumbs the tiny photograph, lips pursed. “No.” She finally admits._

_“One of the eggheads that used to run the… the…” You mouth is dry. How does anyone talk about this? To vocalize what’s never been said? “the, uh– the debriefing process. Memory extraction. Research.”_

_You watch as Zia’s expression darkens, narrows her eyes at the tiny man in the picture. “How do you know it was him?”_

_Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the spider. “Met him.”_

_She looks at you, doesn’t hide the disbelief. “You met him.”_

_“Broke the process once.” You’re pressing your finger into your leg hard now as you trace._

_“Broke the–?” You can feel it in the way Zia’s attention has turned to you, a thousand little threads probing for answers, looking for holes, expecting a trap. You’ve turned from a fun game, a toy to tease and distract herself with into a danger; pulling open old wounds._

_There’s nothing for it. You need her invested in this. You grit your teeth and_

> _can’t move_
> 
> _can’t even ‘can’t move’_
> 
> _wake up_
> 
> _wake_ **up**
> 
> _stay_
> 
> _awake_
> 
> _over you spans,_
> 
> _no not_ **you** _there is no ‘you’ only_
> 
> _an exquisite corpse under spider legs_
> 
> _like needlepoints, they poke something soft in–_
> 
> _You’re standing on the beach, salt air curls your hair, water wraps around your ankles. He smiles at you, taking your hand. ‘Finally, someone who understands’ – The feeling is writ across his mind, it overwhelms you. You suppress a shudder, smile back, swallow thoughts down like bramble. Stay focused. Edge to the side, pull him along. The line of fire needs to be clear._
> 
> _–a wriggling thought until she bites down, stills it, not yours not yours_ **hers** _now, she draws out the memory on bloodied thread; wrapping, spinning, going_
> 
> _no,_ _no_
> 
> _stay_
> 
> _awake_
> 
> _reach up, find, pull. not hers, not hers,_ **yours** _._
> 
> _this one is yours._
> 
> _!_
> 
> _something’s_
> 
> _burning_

_You flinch, that’s not quite the memory you wanted to vomit up, never mind broadcast. You curl your song tight against yourself again, block the world out. Meant to do the moment after, chickened out. Stupid. Stupid. You risk looking up at Zia. There’s a look of fury slowly burning across her face and then the world reels backwards as she punches you flat for springing the memory on her. But– You think you’ve got her._

Nemesis kicks the doors in before you can. “Everyone, lovelies, please remain calm.” She calls out, her empty hands up in the air as she walks through the cubicles. “Only one of you needs to die today. The rest have nothing to worry about…” The ease with which Nemesis is able to spread out and curl the threads of her attention around the gaggle of people in the room should terrify you. Instead all you can think about is what you’ll do. What you’ll say.

You follow in behind, the pistol in your hands held in a death grip. It’s been years since you’ve let yourself handle one, but the muscle memory is still there. Some things you can never forget, they made sure of that.

Like a conductor Nemesis is able to coax their fear into a wail of terror, drowning out any fantasies of trying to run or call for help. Fourteen fear-filled souls. You have to pull your own song tighter around you as a shield against the radiant emotional energy. “You don’t need to give them fucking PTSD,” You hiss at her.

“Why not?” Nemesis laughs. “You’re the anarchist, dear. Here’s a bunch of government stooges, why not have a little fun?”

“They’re just pawns. They don’t matter.”

“Not all of the little dears.” There’s an edge in her voice. Nemesis beckons with a hand and one of the fear-stricken office workers finds himself stumbling forward towards the two of you, pulled along on Nemesis’s invisible strings.

You choke down bile. “Hello, Peter.”

Peter turns his head to you, mouth gaping open, then closed, incoherent.

You shoot a glance at Nemesis. “For fuck’s sake, might as well let him talk.”

“That’s a mistake.” Nemesis warns. Nevertheless, the invisible cord around Peter’s neck slackens and the man gasps for air.

“ _Hello_ , Peter.” You repeat. 

“That– that is not my name, you’ve got the wrong–”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about what name they gave you after you screwed up, _Peter_.” You grind your teeth, feel the gun in your hand. Safety off. “Did you think you’d be safe out here?”

Nemesis nudges your shoulder. “Don’t bother toying with the man, get to the point.”

“I’m working up to it!” You snap at her, turn your attention back to Peter. “How long has it been, Peter? Fourteen years?”

“Fourteen…?” The look of confusion and terror on the man’s face gives way to pallid dread, the color draining out of him.

Nemesis crosses her arms. “Oh, we’re _really_ going to drag this one out, aren’t we?”

“I’m not finished yet!”

Nemesis tsks at you. “That’s no way for a handmaiden to address her mistress.”

You ignore her, adjust your grip on your gun. You’re. In. Control. “Did you enjoy your job, Peter?” You don’t feel like Adrestia right now. You just feel sick. “How were the _perks_ , Peter?” Panic and dread radiate off of him. His, it has to be his emotions that you’re feeling, That’s why you can’t keep your gun steady. 

Nemesis leans over you, a hand on your shoulder. “There’s a time and place for foreplay sweetheart. Now is not it.” She puts her other hand over your wrist to steady your arm. “We can’t stay here all night.”

You flinch under her touch. “I– I– I need him to– to understand. He has to know. Or it’s… it’s not justice.” You’re not a murderer. This is more than just some random act of revenge. He’s earned this. He needs to _know_.

“Darling,” Her voice is low, quiet even with the distortion. “I think he gets the picture just fine.” She puts her finger on the trigger, resting over yours. “Isn’t that right, dear?” She raises her voice with all the cheer of a cactus.

Peter raises his arms, “I didn’t do anything wrong…”

Nemesis guides your arm up, pointing the pistol in your hand towards Peter as he takes a step back, hitting the wall. “But you had some good fun back on the farm, didn’t you?” 

The two of you pull the trigger.


End file.
